How empty and dreary his comfortable bachelor lodgings seemed to him that
night when he had dined, and sat by the open window smoking his solitary
cigar, listening to the dismal street-noises, and the monotonous roll of
ceaseless wheels yonder in Oxford-street; not caring to go out to his
club, caring still less for opera or theatre, or any of the old ways
whereby he had been wont to dispose of his evenings!

His mind was full of Marian Nowell. All that was grave and earnest in his
nature gave force to this his first love. He had had flirtations in the
past, of course; but they had been no more than flirtations, and at
thirty his heart was as fresh and inexperienced as a boy's. It pleased
him to think of Marian's lonely position. Better, a hundred times better,
that she should be thus, than fettered by ties which might come between
them and perfect union. The faithful and generous protector of her
childhood would of necessity always claim her love; but beyond this one
affection, she would be Gilbert's, and Gilbert's only. There would be no
mother, no sisters, to absorb her time and distract her thoughts from her
husband, perhaps prejudice her against him. Domestic life for those two
must needs be free from all the petty jars, the overshadowing clouds no
bigger than a man's hand, forerunners of tempest, which Mr. Fenton had
heard of in many households.

He was never weary of thinking about that life which was to be.
Everything else he thought of was now considered only in relation to that
one subject. He applied himself to business with a new ardour; never
before had he been so anxious to grow rich.